


Fine Dining

by NotPersephone



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bedannibal in Florence, F/M, Food Kink, Kitchen Sex, Shameless Smut, bedannibalprompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 03:56:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12290703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotPersephone/pseuds/NotPersephone
Summary: “Have you ever engaged in any sexual activities in a kitchen?” Bedelia asked, gazing at him and taking another mouthful of coffee.





	Fine Dining

**Author's Note:**

  * For [awayfromsight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/awayfromsight/gifts).



It was the rarest of occurrences, seeing Hannibal Lecter lost for words. Bedelia had often wondered if anyone else had ever managed to achieve that. If they did, none of them would ever live to tell the tell. And here she was, safe and unharmed, with the most dangerous man standing half naked in front of her, preparing her breakfast.

It was so singular, yet so accustomed, the closeness they had been sharing. Bedelia sipped her freshly brewed coffee and watched as Hannibal cut up fruit for her. He offered to make her favourite breakfast, egg white omelette with spinach and cottage cheese, but she had kindly declined; the summer heat had diminished her appetite. So instead he insisted on preparing fruit slices, despite her reassurance that she was perfectly capable of managing a whole berry.

“Have you ever engaged in any sexual activities in a kitchen?” Bedelia asked, gazing at him and taking another mouthful of coffee.

The knife stopped, suspended over a chopping board, strawberry juice dripping from its edge like thin blood, landing in droplets on the wooden surface. She raised an eyebrow, watching his peculiar reaction, suspecting he considered feigning ignorance, but couldn’t.

“No, I have not,” he avoided her gaze, returning to task at hand, knife slicing through the fruit with more determination now. She kept observing him, knowing that she had struck a mine of golden knowledge and not letting this opportunity end with a simple three-word reply.

The subject made him uneasy, an unforeseen set of circumstances; Bedelia did not think it was possible, at least not in this specific area. Hannibal had proven to be keen on trying everything. No surface of their apartment was left untouched. Except for the one they were currently seated by.

“Have you?” he finally looked up under the scrutiny of her stare, attempting to shift the balance, but Bedelia simply smiled.

“No,” she had no issues with admitting that, “I don’t find the area particularly _accommodating_.”

The kitchen setting did not spark her imagination. The high counter tops did not mesh well with her petite stature. She did not favour any space where her control was compromised. But she started to explore more of herself and her hidden cravings here with him. Perhaps it was time for him to try something different as well.

“Kitchen holds a special significance to you,” she commented as though this was just another hour of therapy, “Is that why you wouldn’t consider it for anything other than preparing meals?” She had the word _meat_ on a tip of her tongue, but she did not speak it; they were both aware of the unstated inference.

“It would not be hygienic,” he stated curtly, but Bedelia was not convinced.

“That is a valid argument, but so is the lack of space,” she tried to confront him further.

Hannibal’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he did not reply, making Bedelia realise the last comment was uncalled for. After all, he had sacrificed his kitchen expanse to give her the bathroom she loved so much.

They resumed their routine in silence; Hannibal sliced the fruit and Bedelia took the pieces directly from under his knife, not bothering to wait for the full presentation. This itself showed a compromise on his part. She wondered what else he would be willing to forgo.

 

Later that evening, Bedelia emerged from the bathroom after taking a refreshing bath before dinner. Tying the sashes of her teal robe, she looked at the long table, plates and glasses standing at ready in anticipation for the evening. Her gaze moved across the table and into the kitchen where Hannibal made final additions to the meal. He had settled for a light dish this evening, monkfish with Salmoriglio sauce; the heat seemed to temper his desire for red meat. She surveyed his well-choreographed routine, every move precise and calculated. It was always a performance, even when no one was watching, one she was very appreciative of, in more than one way.

Instead of going to the bedroom to dress for dinner, she headed to the kitchen; her steps soft, bare feet silent against the wooden floor. She stopped at the threshold, continuing to observe his distinctive ritual.

“You have a bit of sauce on your cheek,” her words broke his concentration and he stopped to look at her.

“No, I don’t,” he replied firmly, not even bothering to check, his confidence in the immaculate state of his appearance never faltered. He finished arranging the pieces of fish on the plates, making sure they were perfectly centred and added freshly chopped mint leaves, before setting them aside.

“Yes, you do,” her own conviction just as strong as she walked towards him. She dipped her finger in the saucier and smeared the yellow liquid on his right cheek.

“There,” she watched her work with pride.

Hannibal stared at her in disbelief, but before he got a chance to utter a word, she stood on the tips of her toes, holding his neck and cleaning the spot with her tongue. She stepped back, licking her lips, tasting lemon juice and garlic, awaiting his reaction.

He continued to stare at her, speechless, and she was sure that was the most sacrilegious thing that ever took place in his kitchen. And she intended to surpass that. Her fingers stirred the sauce again, olive oil and parsley sticking to her skin, then she reached her hand out, teasing his mouth. He made an attempt to pass the tongue over her fingers, but she merely brushed his lips before withdrawing. Sauce drips landed on his shirt, but he did not notice, gazing at her as she licked her own fingers.

“Do you want me to stop?” she licked her lips again, slower than necessary.

“No,” he uttered breathlessly, and she smiled, pleased with his answer.

Coating her fingers in more dressing, she slowly dragged her hand over his chin. With her other hand on the nap of his neck, she reached up, standing on her toes again and covered his chin with her mouth, kissing it clean. Her fingers moved to his shirt, undoing the buttons and easing it off his shoulders. She looked at his torso with approval, assessing the next best spot for her sampling. She sank her hand in the saucier again, letting the oil drip pass her wrist and she brought it to his skin, tracing a line from his jaw, down his neck, all the way down his pectorals. Her lips and tongue soon followed as she tasted the dressing on his skin. Each stroke of her tongue was met with a groan from his lips, becoming more audible the more she tasted him. Her hands moved to caress his chest, nails scratching, fingers teasing and he pushed his hips towards hers, wanting her to know the effect she had on him.

Bedelia did not know whether he had engaged in such play before, but she was certain it had never involved food he had prepared. With her eyes on him, she pulled away from his chest and brushed the robe off one of her shoulders, inviting him to play too.

She watched as Hannibal dipped his fingers in the sauce, a cautious movement, as though it was the most unusual thing he had ever done. How very ironic, she thought as another smile pulled at her lips. His hand hovered in the air while he hesitated and Bedelia grasped it, then licked the sauce of his fingers. Her tongue moved slowly and with precision from the base to the fingertips before she took them into her mouth.

Hannibal gasped; if he had any reserve left, it was now gone. He closed the remaining distance between them and wrapped his arm around her waist, kissing her with abandon. Her robe was untied and discarded on the floor as he pressed her naked body closer to his and begin to walk forward, until Bedelia’s back touched the counter.

He stopped, his eyes flicking from her to the surface behind her. She saw hesitation in his eyes, no doubt worrying about his perfectly prepared meal, but instead of moving the dishes, he merely removed the knife and put it aside. Now it was Bedelia’s time to sigh as he swiftly lifted her up and placed her on the counter. He continued to kiss her while slowly pushing her to lie back. His elbow knocked off the saucier; it shattered on the ground, a splash of oil and porcelain, but he did not even notice, his lips remained on hers, his hands mapping her curves. Bedelia’s head touched the cool surface and Hannibal broke the kiss, still hovering over her, lust and hunger blending together and colouring his irises a much darker shade.

As he stared at her, presented on the counter like a finest dish, Bedelia became suddenly self-aware. Perhaps she should have considered this situation more carefully, a worrying thought invaded her mind as Hannibal turned away and reached for the opposite counter. Nothing could stop him from taking back the knife and slicing her open. Her breathing more ragged, she watched him with apprehension, but when he faced her again, the only object in his hand was a glass of wine. The shimmering pale yellow of Bâtard-Montrachet appeared more ochre in the evening light as Hannibal swirled the glass. His eyes turned to her again and the glass in his hand stilled, as he noticed her unexpected nervousness. Hannibal smiled and leaned in to kiss her again, gentler this time, warming and calming her, melting away her reserve with each soft touch of his lips, until she sighed with returned content.

When his mouth left hers, the smile on his lips transformed into a smirk. She gazed in exhilaration as he tipped the glass and poured the wine over her breasts. A loud gasp escaped her lips, equal parts surprise and pleasure. His mouth was on her in an instant and he rolled his tongue between her breasts, consuming the wine and relishing her skin.

Bedelia moved her arms over her head, arching her back, yearning for him to give attention to her breasts next. Another dish fell on the ground, but the only thing she felt was his mouth on her skin and the only thing he heard was her soft sighs.

His tongue slid to trace the contour of her mounds and then licked them entirely, replacing the cool moisture of the wine with the warm one of his saliva. When he reached the top, his teeth nibbled at her nipples, as though they were olives floating in a cocktail and Bedelia moaned, louder now.

He tipped the glass over her skin again, as his lips followed the line to her naval before sucking it dry.

Hannibal moved to lower himself between her legs, making Bedelia shift in anticipation. His arms wrapped around her legs as he kissed her inner thigh before biting it. She felt his warm breath, so close to her dripping core, and her legs parted wider, urging him on. Finally, his wide tongue spread her folds and cold wine flooded her hot sex. His lips locked with her centre and he drank the wine and her. His hands clutched her hips, bringing her even closer and holding her in place.

It was an exhilarating feeling, the contrast of the cold liquid and his hot mouth against her. Bedelia’s hand reached towards his head, fingertips gliding through his hair, nails brushing across his scalp.

More wine was poured over her as he lapped and sucked with fervour, making her body twist and arch higher. She no longer cared how she looked, spread like a buffet on the kitchen counter; only one thought occupied her mind and she did not want him to stop.

The last drops of wine were gone, but Hannibal continued to devour her with hunger, sucking and slurping noises matching Bedelia’s moans in their volume. He would never allow himself such a behaviour at a dinner table, but here, kneeling between her legs, he let go completely.

His firm tongue slipped inside her, longing for a deeper taste and his nose stroked her swollen bud. Her body contorted further, the hold on his hair tightened as she attempted to anchor herself. He pressed harder against her, making her hips quiver and pushing her into ecstasy. He held his mouth on her, tasting her and continued to lick her slowly, helping her down from her high.

Resting on her forearms, Bedelia lifted herself up and looked at the man between her thighs. His pristine appearance was gone; dark eyes wide with lust, dressing spread on his chest, her own juices smeared all over his face. She sat up and placed her forefinger underneath his chin, urging him to stand up as well. Hands moving to his cheeks, she kissed him then, tasting what he had savoured, the flavour of almonds in the wine complementing the sharp taste of her.

Her hand moved down, fingers skimming the bulge in his trousers. Hannibal groaned, nearly trembling with want now, and she finally freed him from the confinements of his clothes.

With eagerness, he parted her thighs again and pushed in. Bedelia’s legs instinctively wrapped around his waist as they both cried out at the sudden sensation. He stilled for a moment; his umber eyes filled with raw emotions as he stared at her, and it was more than a mere want. He bared his body and soul for her alone.

“ _Hannibal,_ ” his name on her lips was always like spell to him.

He sighed and began to roll his hips. Her hands gripped the edge of the counter as she steadied herself, not wanting to fall, but his strong arms wrapped themselves around her and she knew he would never let her. His mouth went down to her shoulder, kissing her collarbone and tracing her throat with the tip of his tongue. He shifted, his hands on her hips, changing the angle and began to move faster. Bedelia’s hands left the counter and came around his neck.

The peaks of her breast rubbed against his chest, wine and oil remnants blending together, aided by the slickness of their skins. Hannibal’s lips found hers once more as he kissed her deeply and then rested his forehead against Bedelia’s; both lips parted, a duet of moans filling the space.

Pressure started to form in her lower abdomen once more with each precise thrust, nerves within her centre firing up at a critical rate. His grip on her hips increased in force, fingers imprinting themselves on her skin, as he pushed her closer against him. They were utterly undone; a few more motions and he sent her over the edge once more. She cried out, digging her nails into his shoulders. Her muscles contracted and relaxed around him as she grasped his neck, eyes closed, cheek against cheek, her body caught in a loop of pleasure. She was aware that his own release was close and when he finally came, it was with her name on his lips.

They held each other, breathless and satiated, among the disarray of the previously spotless area. He gently eased her down from the counter, an expression of elation on his face, as if a whole new world of possibilities had opened in front of him.

Once they had collected themselves, Bedelia offered to assist him with the cleaning of the kitchen, but he refused. However, he was more than happy to let her clean him; as she drew another bath, he joined her and they washed the residues off their bodies.

The dinner was long forgotten; nothing could surpass the taste they had for each other.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like Hannibal would not engage in kitchen sex before because no one was worthy of this space, he perceived others as merely meat. Of course, it all changed when he met Bedelia. I love the idea of them both pushing each other into trying different things, sex-wise and otherwise. Definitely canon and a sign of a true match.  
> And the only thing worthy spilling on Bedelia's skin is a 650 Euro per bottle wine.  
> 


End file.
